


Presentation and Packaging

by josephina_x



Series: Dimension 46’\-A [17]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: (he’s BILL CIPHER), (sorry about that), (sort of?), (this one is barely a crossover this time), (yes OF COURSE Bill knows how to shitpost), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Gen, One Year Later, Post-Series, Post-Weirdmageddon, See You Next Summer, WhatWouldTeslaDo, wwtd crossover
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-23 00:50:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16608698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/josephina_x/pseuds/josephina_x
Summary: Bill gets caught using Mabel’s cloned phone. Kind of....This does not in any way fall out as Ford might possibly have expected or wished it to.





	Presentation and Packaging

**Author's Note:**

> Fic: Presentation and Packaging  
> Fandom: Gravity Falls  
> Pairing: n/a  
> Rating: PG-13  
> Spoilers: through the end of the series, and some of the books (Journal #3); also, up through Oct 21, 2018 of WWTD  
> Summary: Bill gets caught using Mabel’s cloned phone. Kind of. 
> 
> ...This does not in any way fall out as Ford might possibly have expected or wished it to.  
> Disclaimer: Not mine, not for profit.  
> AN: This isn’t nearly as much of a “crossover” as the other two WWTD crossover fics, but I shall still shamelessly plug [Noia](https://fordanoia.tumblr.com)’s blog [What Would Tesla Do](https://whatwouldteslado.tumblr.com)! :)
> 
> Not really written in “real-time” exactly. Some things I wrote the day of, and some things… _really_ **not** -so-much.
> 
> This fic takes place the day after _The Best-Written Plans... (but this ain’t one of them…)_ takes place, in the afternoon. (So, basically, Bill’s gotten some dinner, sleep, and breakfast in-between then and now).
> 
> Mainly written in terrible Bill POV yet again (as is the usual these days…), but this time we get a semi-decent chunk of Ford POV, too! (...yay? :)
> 
> (And yes, I’m starting to post GF things that aren’t fully-complete here. Sorry about that -- I figure posting _some_ things is better than _nothing_ , in terms of context and delay-between-postings, though. Hopefully everything is okay? --Let me know if you have any questions about anything, though! I’m being kid of rough about filling in-between the blanks, again-and-still. Thank you for hanging in there and bearing with me, as I try to get this all worked- and written-out! ^_^;;;; )

\---

Bill was feeling a good bit less itchy under his own stupid human-ish skin today. He’d been too annoyed with the problems he’d had in trying to write that trio of idiots into doing what he wanted them to do, to try to think on it any more that night. So Bill had spent his time thinking on other things instead.

And now, between (1) having finally made some decent progress last night (before falling asleep) on thinking up and thinking through some ways and means that he could ‘deal with’ any beings of pure energy he might have to ‘handle’ by using magic rather than _weirdness_ \-- he’d _FINALLY_ come up with not only several promising methods that he could pursue, but a few useful viable ‘starters’ that could _disrupt things_ and catch him a breather _during_ a potential fight--

\--and (2) having spent the first part of that morning outside the barrier checking the hyperdimensional whatsit connection (finding it ‘clean’ still) and setting up a few _actual_ ‘pitfalls’ for anyone who might try to backtrace his communication line from said hyperdimensional whatsit (read: _that other Bill_ if things went _REALLY_ wrong)--

\--and then about an hour inside the barrier augmenting said “mystical spell” to _also_ suppress fire and other combustion reactions that might occur in or near Stanley’s house the same way it did most energy output (really, what had taken the longest had been setting up a small ‘barrier-nullification’ zone around the top of the gas stove _properly_ , so that Stanley could still cook completely-inedible things on top of it)...

Well, let’s just say that between-and-after those two things (plus that additional-one-hour), Bill was feeling a good bit less stressed out today over the potential likelihood and/or outcome of any _other_ Bill showing up and wanting to pick a fight with him. --Certainly a great deal less than he had been feeling over the week prior.

(Spending the latter half of that morning quietly performing polyphonic overtone singing of Shepard tones -- up-and-up-and-up the down-scale, while using circular breathing to maintain the notes -- had _also_ helped him immensely, to both recondition and retune his energy flow. Bill couldn’t feel the state of his energy-self directly, currently, but he had found a way to check it _indirectly_ , and when he’d realized the state of himself…)

(Frankly, Bill was starting to think that something was _VERY_ wrong with how his energy-self was being tied down to his body at-present. Or maybe there was something really wrong with his _body’s_ current form? --Either way, something at the connection point between the two seemed to be sending unhealthy resonances in both directions at times… So he had yet another thing for him to have to look into. Yeesh.)

Despite the stress-drop and smoother energy circulation at-present, Bill was caught off-guard enough to let out a Flatlander click-chirp (< _startled-query -- value-unknown?_ >) as his phone went off at an unexpected moment, _right_ after he’d shoved the lever down on the bread in the toaster.

He let out a huff of breath and went for his pocket, smoothly pulling out the phone, and he tapped in his passcode to unlock the screen so he could check the notification -- yes, it _was_ from that other dimension being in time-sync again and having sent an access ping from the other side.

“What, already?’ Bill muttered, pulling a face slightly. Because did he really _want_ to try and deal with these idiots _right now?_

...Yes, in the _long run_ it would be more efficient to find a way to get these idiots to not collapse their dimension or destroy their planet, so that Bill didn’t have to work at un-collapsing and fixing everything later, but… that _was_ more of a long-term thing. Was it really worth the stress of having to try and deal with it _right then?_ Along with everything else he was having to balance and juggle day-to-day currently? Even if that other Bill might be one that he might be able to get along with, after all? (...Though it did seem more than a little bit unlikely currently…)

And given how he _STILL_ didn’t have a good plan for how to _write_ these idiots into doing what he wanted them to do, to act like good little puppet-pawns for him… was it really WORTH his time to try and communicate with them when he wasn’t ready to and _KNEW_ they wouldn’t do what they were told? _Especially_ when he WASN’T even finding it ANY type of FUN to TRY at-present?

 _And_ he was right in the middle of making lunch for himself! _Rude_ , much? Why did “Sixer”-Stanfords always _have_ to have such LOUSY timing!?

Bill grimaced slightly and turned in place, leaning his back against the counter behind him as he thought through this all, almost fully-focused solely on his own thoughts and the screen of his “smart”phone as he pulled up the blogsite again.

\---

At the sound of an odd chiming tone (-- followed by Bill saying _what_ in _what language??_ \--) Ford saw both Mabel and Bill each shove a hand into one of their pockets and each pull out something to hold.

Ford watched as Mabel pulled out her hot pink and ‘glitterized’ touchscreen cellular computing device, checked it, then watched her shove the small “cellular phone” back into her pocket as she glanced up at Bill with a curious look.

He followed her gaze to see, as Bill muttered to himself and turned around, that Bill was holding and tapping at an object that... looked remarkably similar to Mabel’s cellular device.

“Bill, where did you get that?” Ford heard Dipper ask the triangle demon suspiciously.

“My phone. Mine,” Ford heard Bill say almost absently without looking up from the phone. It was almost as if... Bill’s thoughts were… _elsewhere?_

Ford stared at Bill openly. He’d never seen Bill… _distracted_ before.

“It’s okay, Dip-Dop. It’s not mine. I have mine!” Mabel offered up to Dipper with a bright smile, as she pulled it out of her pocket again and held it up to her brother.

“No, Mabel, look -- it has to be yours!” Dipper said, pointing at the device that Bill was holding. “It has those teeth marks on it from when Waddles chewed on it and-- _yours_ ,” DIpper turned to look at the device Mabel was holding, “--does… _too_ …?” Dipper told her, trailing off as he stared at his sister’s phone.

Ford, glancing between the two phones, saw the same teeth marks on the left-side of each, and blinked. Because they _were_ the same marks. _Exactly_ the same markings.

“Kid, where did you get that?” Stanley asked Bill in his usual gruff tones, from over by the stove, as he worked on griddling up some afternoon Stancakes for the rest of them.

“Made it,” Ford heard Bill say, then mutter out, “How about you [stop worrying](https://whatwouldteslado.tumblr.com/post/179289085717/remember-remember-the-woodpecker-sighs-did-you) [about woodpeckers](https://whatwouldteslado.tumblr.com/post/179289227227/alright-so-i-have-two-separate-messages-regarding) and actually do something useful instead, you idiot,” as he did something with the phone screen.

‘ _Woodpeckers?_ ’ Ford thought, blinking. What in the world was Bill reading on that device?

“Kid,” Stan said. Bill ignored him, tapping at something on the phone screen again, one-handed. “Kid, look at me.” No response.

Ford saw his brother put down the spatula, turn off the heat on the stove, take in a breath, and turn towards-- “ _ **Bill**_.”

Ford saw Bill blink, then lift up his head and turn it towards Stanley.

“Kid,” Stanley said. “ _How_ did you make that phone.”

“Magic,” said Bill. At the look Stanley gave him, Bill not quite rolled his eyes and rattled off, “I took Shooting Star’s phone from the living room and walked outside of the barrier, used magic to ‘clone’ it, and put her phone back in the living room under the seat cushions of your chair when I was done with it.”

“You stole--!” Dipper began, and Ford could fully understand his nibling’s anger.

“-- _Borrowed_ ,” Bill cut Dipper off, narrowing his eyes and his pupils at him.

“Hey,” Stanley not quite barked out, cutting the _both_ of them off at what had looked like the start of an impending argument.

\--At least for a moment.

“He shouldn’t have that!” Dipper exclaimed, standing up at his seat. “Grunkle Stan, _stop him!!_ ” he said urgently. “He could be talking to _anyone_ on the other end of that thing! Murderers! _Hitmen!_ ”

“--The IRS!” Mabel said cheerfully, getting in on it.

Ford felt confused at Dipper’s clear and immediate panic for a moment -- Bill wasn't talking to anyone on it, clearly. It was clearly distracting Bill, though -- and wasn’t _distracting_ Bill a good solid half of what Stanley spent most of his time doing? If that device did that for him… wasn’t that a good thing?

But then Ford remembered that--

...

\--Ford didn’t actually remember standing up from the table and crossing the intervening distance. He only realized what he’d been doing shortly after he’d stopped.

He’d stopped because he’d felt Stan’s iron-gripped hold wrap around his wrist, holding his arm in place, with his fingers inches away from ripping from Bill’s grasp the _communication device Bill was holding that was capable of both verbal **and written** conversation **which Bill had been typing on** \--_

Ford felt as if all air had currently exited the room. Because he’d forgotten. --Mabel used her cellular device primarily for reading stories, playing games, and taking pictures of things, yes (and yes, while it was a computation device, it was _well_ below the energy levels and computational capabilities of anything Ford could think of Bill being able to use to any real, truly threatening, ill or dire purpose)--

\-- _ **but**_ the other _main_ function and purpose of the device was for _not only_ facilitating voice calls (which Bill clearly wasn’t using it for at the moment) _but **also** for--!!_

“Ford, breathe,” he was told by his brother.

“Stan--”

“No,” Stanley said, shoving him away by the hold on his wrist, before letting go of him. “Don’t go grabbing things away from the kid.”

“Stan, those devices are capable of phone calls--” Ford objected strenuously.

“He ain’t talking to anybody on that thing,” his brother said with a frown, giving him a long look.

“--as well as _text-based messaging, and emails_ \--” Ford continued loudly, gritting his teeth. “If he talks with other people using that--” Ford added under his breath...

Ford glanced at Bill, who was looking between him and his brother with a frown.

Worse, Ford couldn’t see what was on the phone screen from where he was standing; Bill was holding it close enough to his chest now that neither of them _could_ see it without either grabbing and wrenching Bill’s arm down by the wrist or outright grabbing the communications device away from him.

Something which Stanley seemed not wont to do.

Though Stan did stop and blink at what Ford had reminded _him_ of, in terms of written communication.

“And he could have been talking to someone on it before this morning,” Ford added for good measure.

Stan gave him an almost disgruntled look. Then Stan glanced over his shoulder at Bill.

“Kid, you call anyone on that thing?” Stan asked. “Text or email anybody?”

“No, no, and no,” Bill said suspiciously, glancing between the two of them before directing his gaze back to Stanley. “Why.”

“He’s lying,” Ford told his brother, because Bill was leaving something out there -- he _knew_ it.

Stanley held up a hand to Ford, a ‘stop’ signal, as he watched Bill.

Bill stared at Stan right back.

Ford clenched his jaw in frustration.

“Kid,” Stanley said almost ponderously, as he slowly lowered his hand again. “ _Why_ did you make that phone.”

From the flatness of the latter half of that sentence, it should have been a statement. Yet, somehow, Stanley made it sound like a very firm question, instead.

“...Because I didn’t want to directly connect the signals hooked into this phone to my stupid human-ish head instead,” Bill told him, just as slowly.

Stan frowned.

Dipper looked weirded out, but... “-- _You can **do** that?_” Mabel said. “You can hear phone calls and wifi and do internet-things with your _brain??_ ” She looked interested and a little… excited? That was curious… and maybe a little worrying; Ford had never really gotten the impression from her that she was all that interested in scientific processes, but if she was thinking of asking _Bill_ for information--

Ford could do a far better and safer job of enlightening and teaching her himself.

“Well, some species _have_ evolved to pick up on certain electromagnetic signals outside of the range of--” Ford began to explain to her, mindful of the technology and scientific knowledge of the era he’d have to start from.

“--Some dimensions have computer-chips people can stick in their brains that work like ‘smart’phones, _yes_ , but I like the bio-brain bits better, the connection’s usually faster and smoother,” Bill interrupted him, and Ford glared.

Mabel looked a little confused at first, then perked up. “You can put smartphones in people’s _brains!?_ ”

Bill blinked at her, then grinned and straightened up in place.

“I SURE CAN, Shooting Star!” Bill said. “Be kind of messy though, SCOOPING OUT the stuff to MAKE ROOM for it! HA! --Why do you want to know?” Bill asked inquisitively of her, looking interested as he dropped the hand holding his phone from his chest to his waist. (Ford still couldn’t see the screen, though.)

Mabel looked a little queasy, Dipper winced, and Ford covered his own wince by rubbing a hand across his face.

“--So, _kid_ ,” Stan said suddenly, in _such_ a good-natured tone that it made Ford immediately and _highly_ suspicious, “Been writing to anybody on that thing, yet?”

Bill turned his head back towards Stan and blinked at him.

“...Yes,” Bill said finally, after a markedly long delay, while giving Stan a long flat and assessing look, and if Ford didn’t know any better, he’d think Bill looked _suspicious_ of Stan’s reaction himself. “ _Why._ ”

“ _Well_ , kid.” Stan’s grin got even _more_ ‘good-natured’, and he got a bit of an amused and knowing grin to go with it. “I’m just wondering how that’s _working out_ for you.”

Ford stared at the two of them as Bill’s head moved down slightly on his neck and his shoulders came up a bit. He looked almost… _hunted_.

_Stan was still grinning._

And the longer the silence from Bill drew out, the wider Stanley’s grin became.

“I mean, sure,” Stanley began breezily, “ _I_ was gonna have you start off nice and easy with the people in _town_ \-- but hey!” Stanley said with an expansive gesture at the cloned communications device Bill was holding, “You wanna go jumping straight into the deep end? I ain’t gonna stop ya!”

...Bill was outright _frowning_ at Stanley now.

“ _Stanley…_ ” Ford said warningly under his breath, because he could see where Stan was going with this. And this? This was _not_ a good idea.

Stan ignored him.

“You talking to any of those Henchmaniac friends of yours with that thing? --Writing, whatever, the whole nine yards?” Stan asked of Bill casually, and Ford went rigid, reaching for his gun holster--

“...No,” said Bill after another long pause, frowning at Stan. “...We talked about that.”

Ford stopped and stared, because Stan had done _what?_

“What?” Ford heard Dipper say himself, from where he was standing next to him. 

“We sure did,” Stan said agreeably. “Why it was a bad idea to talk to them right now; why you shouldn’t do it.” There was a pause. “Why you should talk to me if you start thinking it’s a good idea again, before doing it.”

“Yes,” said Bill neutrally.

Ford wondered if this was what going insane felt like: listening to Stanley and Bill talk like Stanley had convinced Bill of something that--

“You change your mind about that yet, kid?” Stan asked of him.

“No,” said Bill, still meeting Stan’s eyes, and he hadn’t looked away from Stanley since Stan had started--

“You been talkin’ to anybody who isn’t a human on that thing?” Stan asked next, gesturing at it.

“...No,” said Bill, after a few seconds pause, then another small hesitation before adding, “Not that I know of.”

Stan nodded at him once. “You plannin’ on doing anything with that thing that’ll end up breaking the agreement we’ve got?”

Another pause, almost a hesitation. Then:

“I’m not... _planning_ on that, no,” Bill said slowly, keeping gaze with Stan.

It didn’t escape Ford’s notice that Bill’s grip around the device had tightened slightly as he said it.

It also didn’t escape Ford’s attention that Stan seemed to have picked up on a lot more than he had.

“Start a fight?” Stan said next.

...which Ford had no idea where it had come from, or why Stan had asked that.

At least, he hadn’t until he saw Bill’s expression spasm slightly, and he suddenly realized that Stanley had been slowly, and methodically, _narrowing down_ \--

“I’m _**NOT**_ \--!!” Bill snapped out quickly, then stopped himself and pulled in a breath. “ _Taking sides_ ,” Bill said in a tone of voice that Ford swore sounded almost strained, looking slightly... _haunted_ almost?

And _then_ , Bill broke eye contact with Stan.

“Right now,” Bill said tersely, looking... annoyed with himself? “I’m not trying to start a fight or take sides _right now_.” He looked back to Stanley, eyes dark.

Stan nodded once.

Ford was having trouble pulling in air, because… ‘ _What in existence could be going on that would make **Bill Cipher** _that _**unsure** about something?_’ Ford thought more than a little hysterically.

Ford felt sick. _Literally_ physically ill. His throat was closing up on him; he was feeling his flight-or-fight instincts starting to kick in--

“Uh huh,” said his brother, in the exact same easy tones as he’d been using the entire time they’d been talking. “Is that fight coming here?”

“It had _better not be_ ,” Bill snarled out, teeth bared and looking irate, and Ford shuddered slightly. The quantum destabilizer wasn’t ready yet, he hadn’t found _anything_ comparable to the power source that he needed to replace, and if more demons were coming-- 

‘ _No. No, wait,_ ’ Ford told himself, trying to calm down, forcibly regulating his breathing. Because Bill had said he’d only been talking to humans. Not demons.

Then Ford pulled in a _very_ shaky breath next, because... ‘ _Since when does Bill not lie about anything that’s important._ ’

He had no idea where the lie was in this, though. Whatever Bill was leaving out… it _had_ to be bad. ‘ _Who are these people that Bill is messing with?_ ’

“Grunkle Stan…” Dipper said, sounding worried.

And with no small dread, Ford realized that, at the rate Stan was going, _he_ was going to have to be the one to prepare for **whatever** Bill had been messing about with, not Stan. _Somehow_...

“These people you’ve been writing to,” Stan said seriously to Bill. “They know who you are?”

“-- _No_ ,” Bill said adamantly.

“They gonna be _able_ to track you or us down here, kid?” Stan said. “Am I gonna have to deal with a bunch of people showin’ up on my doorstep? They know enough for that?”

“No,” Bill said. “They-- …shouldn’t.” He looked away from Stan again.

“You got any way of telling if they try?” Stan asked.

“Yes,” Bill said flatly.

“You gonna tell me if this becomes a problem?” Stan said. Bill hunched his shoulders and looked away, and when Bill didn’t respond right away, Stan said, “Yeah, no. You’re gonna tell me if this becomes a problem _right away_ , soon as you know. Because of the agreement.” Bill said nothing. “ _Right?_ ” Stan said firmly.

Bill was twitching.

“ _Fine_ ,” Bill said, looking irate.

“Yeah, okay. _Good_ ,” said Stanley, “Glad we had this talk.” And then Stanley let out a sigh, took a step forward, and raised a hand to Bill’s head, to mess with the hair on top of his head a bit. “All I ask for really, yeah? You tryin’ not to do anything stupid, and just a little warning. Yeah?”

“Nn,” said Bill, taking the hair-messing with zero dignity, despite not doing much more than standing there and taking it.

“Why’re you even getting involved in even more junk, huh kid?” Stan said to him, stopping with his ‘messing’ and letting his hand drop to rest on top of Bill’s head for a moment. “You keep complaining you’ve got too much to think through already, right now. Why’re you gettin’ involved in somebody else’s fight?”

“I’m _not_ ,” Bill protested under his breath.

“If you’re havin’ to think about whether any of these guys are gonna come after you or us, you kinda _are_ , kid,” Stan told him, lowering his hand away from Bill’s head. “There a reason you can’t leave whatever this thing is alone?”

Bill pulled a face.

“...It doesn’t make sense and it’s stupid,” Bill muttered, not meeting any of their eyes. “It isn’t anywhere _close_ to hilarious. --I don’t like it,” was what Bill ended on, and it left Ford flabbergasted because, as far as Ford could tell, _Bill wasn’t lying_.

Stan gave him a long, assessing look.

“You want to stop a stupid fight,” Dipper said doubtfully, speaking up. “ _You_.”

“I’m not _stopping_ it,” Bill said to Dipper like he was objecting, glaring at him. “I’m just--”

“--Helping out!” Mabel cut in, tosing up her arms and grinning, ever the optimist. It left Ford wincing even before--

“--No!” Bill practically snarled out again, rocking back on his heels and looking _alarmed_ of all things, eyes going wide. “I’m not-- not _helping_ them, I’m not helping _ANY_ of them, I’m NOT taking sides!” he said, sounding angry and -- of all things -- truly _stressed_. “I-- I’m on _my side_ ,” Bill said. “I just don’t want to have to _clean up_ **their** MESS _afterwards_ ,” he said, eyes narrowing to their normal width again as he crossed his arms, sounding almost disgusted about the whole… fight?

“Uh _huh_ ,” said Stan. “And how well did _that_ go over with ‘em?”

“What?” Bill said, blinking up at Stanley like he didn’t understand the question.

There was a long moment that passed, during which Ford swore he could _feel_ Stanley gearing up for something.

And then he stood there and watched as his brother took one step forward and turned, to lean back against the counter, right next to Bill.

...His brother had that amused smile going on again, and an odd twinkle in his eye that Ford did not trust one bit.

Apparently, neither did Bill, from the way Bill was eyeing Stan just then.

“Y’know, kid,” Stan started, swinging an arm over Bill’s shoulder (and from the way Bill glanced over and back at the arm across his shoulders, it was clear that Bill _did not_ want it there), “I’m gonna go out on a limb here and guess that these people you’ve been talking to? _Aren’t_ all that appreciative of what you’ve been trying to do for ‘em.”

“...They aren’t,” Bill said slowly in agreement, while eyeing Ford’s brother like Stan was a snake that he was half-expecting to bite him. If getting bitten by a snake was a thing that Bill did not think would be a fun thing overall.

Stanley nodded at him.

“And I bet you’re having a lot of trouble getting them to even listen to ya, huh?” Stan said almost confidingly. “To read what you’ve written down for ‘em. Am I right?”

Bill was outright glowering at Stanley now.

“Because they don’t _have_ to read it, right?” Stan continued on, with a smile that was approaching a grin. “Don’t even have to get through that first sentence, if they don’t like what they’re reading. They just stop right there!”

Bill’s dark look deepened, and Ford felt like he was on the edge of an epiphany, almost.

“You know _why_ they aren’t reading what you’re writing to ‘em?” Stan asked of Bill.

Bill’s jaw was clenched.

And it was at that point that everything that Ford was thinking and feeling did a quick 180, as Ford suddenly realized, with a feeling like being in a sickening freefall, that his brother was going to--

“It’s your presentation,” Stan said, in that exact same ‘good-natured’ tone. “It’s a joke, kid.”

‘ _Oh no,_ ’ Ford thought with a growing horror. ‘ _Oh no no no--_ ’

“ _What_ ,” said Bill flatly.

“Your presentation is a joke, kid,” Stanley repeated. “They don’t like what you’re selling.”

“My presentation is _fine_ ,” said Bill. “They _want_ what I’m selling--”

“--Yeah?” said Stanley. “And how are they ever gonna know that, when they’ve got no reason to look past the _packaging_ ,” Stan said, and Ford was already lost.

Bill shrugged off Stanley’s arm. “I’m not ‘packaging’--” Bill began, then... _stopped_. His eyes narrowed. “... _What do you mean,_ ” Bill said next, staring up at Stanley Pines, the original Mr. Mystery.

Stan smiled.

Ford recognized that smile.

That was Stanley’s ‘gotcha, hook-line-and-sinker’ smile.

This was not happening. No. No. No. Stanley was _not--_

“Eh, let’s start with something simpler, kid,” Stanley said to Bill. “What are you wanting out of these people you’re writing to, anyway?”

Ford saw Bill visibly hesitate.

“I want them to do what I tell them to do, and not do what I tell them not to do,” Bill said.

“Yeah?” said Stan, putting on his ‘thinking face’. “Well, gotta tell ya, kid,” Ford heard his brother say, “That’s a tricky one.”

Ford turned on his heel and walked straight out of the room.

He couldn’t listen to this. No. No.

No.

\---


End file.
